All the wrong reasons
by Rien's Sunset
Summary: At age twenty, Stan is reunited with old friends from South Park over a tragedy and realizes that he should starting making changes before history repeats itself. Mature content, reader discretion is advised. Style, Stendy and various others - TBD.
1. Really, really bad news

**Chapter I**

_Really, really bad news_

I try to keep my eyes on the front of the room as people sob all around me and suddenly feel too hot in my suit jacket. Only three days ago I had opened my door to see Kyle standing on the front porch, eyes glazed over, face white. A million things rushed through my head regarding what he could look so upset about, but nothing – and I mean nothing – even came close to the news he had delivered.

A man dressed in white and gold robes slowly makes his way up the aisle beside me and settles at a podium in the front. Obviously the priest. He raises a hand and a thick silence comes over the crowd, though the occasional soft weep can be heard.

"We are here today to not simply mourn the great loss we have incurred, but also to remember – to celebrate – the life… of Eric Cartman."

The sound of his voice fades into a dull murmur as my whole body is overcome with a mix of emotions I would never be able to describe. All those years… why didn't he ever tell anyone? Memories were flooding my head, like every moment we had spent together was a soundless movie in the back of my mind. I had been to funerals before, people I had known and loved, but this was so different. It felt wrong, like it shouldn't be allowed to happen. Immediately that tingling feeling in my nose started – the kind you get right before you're about to cry. I force myself to start listening to the priest to take my mind off it. _I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry._

"…taken away from us at the age of twenty years, he had not the opportunity to begin the rich life that may have been intended for him. Ah, but God has a plan for us all, and we must remember that perhaps, it was God who needed Eric more than us." A loud wail from the pew in front of me echoes through the entire hall and the priest even pauses to give a sympathetic nod to Mrs. Cartman, who is trying to stifle more tears with a handkerchief. My mom is sitting beside her, rubbing her back, while Kyle's mom is on her other side, whispering something inaudible that seems to only be making it worse. Sheila wasn't ever very good at making people feel better.

I tune out the obituary again and choose to study Kyle, who is sitting to my right. Even though his complexion was naturally fair, all color seems to have drained from his face and stayed that way ever since he heard that Cartman died. He seems to be eating less too… I notice that his cheeks are looking thinner than usual, bringing his face down to a point. When I place my hand on his to get his attention, to ask if he's okay, I realize he's shaking violently.

"Dude… what's going on?" I tilt my head close to his ear so I won't disrupt the rest of the room. When he turns to look at me, my breath catches in my throat. His normally bright, lucid emerald eyes seem dull and unresponsive.

"This… this can't be happening…" He whispers, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. "It can't… it just can't…"

"I know what you mean."

"No, you don't. This has happened a million times before, only this time it's real. We hate Cartman so much, or so we say, until something happens and we realize that we shouldn't be so mean to each other. Except that every time until now, our change of heart is usually brought around by some trick Cartman was playing on us. Now it's not. Now it's real, he's gone, and we can't apologize. We can't say 'oh, we shouldn't have said those things' because there isn't anyone to say it to."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. "You're not… blaming yourself, are you?"

"Well…"

"Kyle, Cartman died because of a heart condition that nobody knew about except him and his mom. From what I hear the doctors didn't think it could turn out to be fatal. They didn't know it might end up causing heart failure."

"But I should have… I don't know… tried harder to be nice, or something. I don't want Cartman's… well; I don't want anyone's, last memory of me to be hateful."

"I think that was going to happen with Cartman anyway," I try to keep my tone playful to make light of my words. "After all, I don't think he was ever going to get over the fact that you were a ginger Jew." He gives me a cold stare and I shut my mouth, at that moment realizing my hand is still clamped around his. I pull away and close my eyes, letting a quiet sigh escape my lips.

I guess I'm not very good at making people feel better either.

_Author's note: Sorry the first chapter is so short! Chapters will vary in length but they will usually be longer than this. Chapter 2 is almost done so expect updates soon!_


	2. The worst high school reunion ever

**Chapter II**

_The worst high school reunion ever_

The reception is typical of a funeral. Little sandwiches, little pastries, cans of pop and glasses of wine all lay out in a big room where people could share their thoughts and memories of the deceased. As terrible as I knew it would sound, I couldn't possibly imagine anyone saying anything particularly nice about Eric Cartman.

Still, a lot more people than I had expected showed up. The place is packed with nearly everyone from the old elementary school. It had been a long time since I'd seen all my old classmates in one place, and I decide to make my rounds, feeling pretty confident about leaving Kyle with Kenny.

I first walk up to Butters and a random girl I assume is his girlfriend, as she is holding his arm. _Good for you, buddy_.

"Oh, uh, hey Stan," Butters smiles his child-like smile at me and my heart instantly warms. For all the times we were mean to him when we were kids, he took it like a champ, and I always regretted ripping on such a sweet guy. Ugh, I'm getting all emotional again.

"Hey Butters. Rough couple days, eh?" I don't really know what to say to him, as all the questions I really want to ask have nothing to do with Cartman.

"Yeah… actually, I only heard yesterday… my parents arranged for me to take a last-minute flight from just outside Colorado Springs. It's a good thing it's summer, otherwise I might notta been able to make it at all, what with exams and stuff."

I was grateful for the opening to change the topic away from the funeral. "How is university going, anyway?"

"Pretty good…" He presses his index fingers and thumbs together nervously – I guess old habits die hard. "I never thought I'd even be able to get through first year… well, nobody did, actually. My parents didn't even want me to go, ya know. They said that if I didn't pass and wasted their money that I would have to work the rest of my life in a shitty job to pay them back…"

"So I take it you passed, then?"

"With flying colors," The girl beside him suddenly chirps in. "Butters is a straight As student."

I do a double-take. "What?"

"Uh… yeah…" Butters looks at the floor and his blonde bangs tumble into his eyes. He makes no effort to remove them. The girl at his side – also blonde, just a few inches shorter than Butters with tanned skin and dark eyes – leans her head against his shoulder and mutters something to him that I don't catch. She then turns to me.

"Will you excuse us… Stan, was it?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem," I watch as the two of them shuffle over to Mr. and Mrs. Scotch and wonder why Butters was so embarrassed about his good grades. If I was pulling those kinds of grades at South Park U, my parents would probably die happy. God knows Shelly won't be pulling any As out of her ass anytime soon.

"Hey dweeb!" Speak of the fucking devil. Why was she even here?

"What are you doing here?" I ask as I turn to face my sister, without making any effort to have the question sound nice. She furrows her eyebrows and tosses her long brown braid over one shoulder.

"They invited the whole family, dumbass."

"So you drove all the way back from Denver and missed a shift just so you could come to one of my friend's funerals?"

"Look," She lowers her voice, glancing around to ensure Ms. Cartman isn't within earshot. "Mom and Dad made me come, okay? They said that it would be better, the more people that showed up. I don't want to be here, so just shut the fuck up, got it?"

"Calm down, Shelly," I turn on my heel to continue my rounds. "You'd think that you could stop being a bitch for just a few hours at a _funeral_."

"Wait, dumbass, I came over here for a reason."

"I don't care." What was she going to do, chase me? Yell insults at me? I grin in victory and make my way back to where Kenny has Kyle hovering around the dessert table, trying to convince him to eat a fruit tart.

"Seriously, you're lucky this is all I'm asking you to eat," Kenny pushes the tart towards Kyle's mouth. The redhead turns away lethargically. "Come on, you haven't eaten in three days. You have to eat something."

"Its true dude, you should eat."

"Fuck you both!" Kyle abruptly whacks Kenny's hand, sending the fruit tart crashing to the ground. "Leave me the fuck alone! What the hell is your problem? Just mind your own fucking business!" It's not like Kyle to swear so much, but worse is that his voice has carried, and now the entire room has fallen quiet to look in our direction. When he notices, his face turns the color of his hair, and he rushes out the back door into the funeral home's courtyard. Awkwardly, people begin talking again, occasionally casting judgemental looks over their shoulders at Kenny and I. When I turn back to Kenny, his eyes are glued to the floor.

"Don't worry about it… he'll be fine," I'm not entirely sure whether I'm trying to convince my friend, or myself. "I'm going to talk to a few more people… keep an eye on him?" Kenny gives me a short nod and I reluctantly leave his side.

"Stan! Stan!" A high-pitched, cooing female voice calls my name and I turn my attention towards the sound. There, standing amongst a group of girls, is my first and only girlfriend to date – Wendy Testiburger.

It seems that immediately after high school Wendy's parents offered her two options: go to university in-town and stay in South Park, or move to Aurora to work in her aunt's hair salon, and attend the Aurora School for Beauty, Hair and Aesthetics on the side. Not only did she choose the latter, but she brought two of her best friends with her. I dread the conversation I'm about to have.

"Hey there, honey bunches of oats!" As soon as I'm within an arm's length Wendy pulls me into a tight hug. I can feel my face and ears getting warm as her large breasts press up against me. If there was one thing that could be said about Wendy Testiburger, it was that she developed early, and she developed well. At least, that's what everyone told me during the times we dated in high school, about how lucky I was to date a girl with – in the immortal words of Kenny – "a body that could set your eyes on fire". I always tried to ignore it, since just thinking about kissing her made me nervous enough to puke.

As she pulls away I discreetly – or at least, I hope it's discreet – give her a once-over. Yeah, she had always been hot… but when did she get so… slutty?

"How are you, babe?" Her voice shakes me out of my thoughts and I'm conscious to lock eyes with her, even though in my peripheral vision, I can make out the deep neckline of her slinky black dress.

"I'm…" I suddenly realize I have absolutely no adjective that can possibly describe how I feel. "I'm however you're supposed to feel at a funeral." At my words, the girls all burst into giggles.

"This must be SO hard for you," Bebe Stevens cuts in, fingering one of her immaculate gold curls. "I have no idea what I would do if one of my best friends just… just died like that!" I strongly resist the urge to roll my eyes. Apparently beauty school is another term for 'place that turns smart, modest girls into stupid whores'. Then again, maybe I just need somewhere to take out my frustration and they're annoying me.

"Yeah… it really sucks…" That is honestly the best I could come up with. My mouth starts to feel dry.

"I'm so sorry," Wendy lightly runs her fingers from the top of my shoulder to my elbow, where she lets her hand rest. "Maybe we can get together later, after dinner sometime… grab a coffee and catch up? I mean, it's been two years, I'm sure we'd have lots to talk about."

"Uh… sure." Damn it. I'm too polite. I know she doesn't really want to have coffee with me; she's stuck in South Park for a while (probably using the trip to spend some time with her family as well) and has already gotten lonely. I assume she's probably become accustomed to a certain… way of life… and needs someone to fill the gap while she's gone. Pun intended.

"Okay, well, catch you later!" The dark haired young woman flashes me what I'm guessing is her most dazzling smile, grabs Bebe with one hand and Red with the other, and drags them into the crowd. I shake my head a few times in vain in an attempt to clear it. No success.

I start off in the opposite direction, weary with the realization of what I just agreed to, and nearly crash right into… Jimmy?

"Stan M-M-M-Marsh! How the h… how the he… how the hell are you?"

"Holy crap, Jimmy! We haven't seen you since grade nine, ever since your parents moved back to… uh… to…"

"C-California," He fills the blank for me. How did I forget that? "I know, it's b-b-been a while."

"And I thought word got around fast in South Park. When did you find out?"

"Pretty soon after it happened, actually. C-C-Ca… Car… C-C-Cartman's mom phoned my mom herself."

"Really?" That surprised me. I mean, it was one thing for Ms. Cartman to call mine and Kyle's mothers; after all, we spent nearly every waking hour with her son. But Jimmy, who Cartman only spent time with when it was handy?

"I know, I was a bit c-confused myself… after getting over sh-sh-shock of the news, that is."

"Tell me about it…" I absent-mindedly let my eyes skim the crowds, searching for my best friend. The growth spurt I hit at sixteen put me at 6'1, so it made my hunt easier, but I couldn't spot the unmistakable red mop of hair anywhere. _He must still be outside._

"Are things going w… going w-w… going we… going well for you?"

"Uh… sure," I'm distracted now, a guilty knot in the pit of my stomach telling me to go find Kyle. "How about you?"

"G-G-Good, actually. My comedy career is really t-taking off. Living in California has given me a lot of op-p-portunites, plus the weather is super nice. Better than S-S-South Park by a landslide."

I only catch about half of what he says. "I'm sorry Jimmy, I hate to do this, but um… can you excuse me for a minute?"

"Well s-sure, Stan. See you la… see you later!"

On my way towards the door that leads out to the courtyard, I look for Kenny, and can't see him either. That at least was a comforting sign – hopefully it meant he was taking care of Kyle like I had asked him to.

Kyle had always taken things way too much to heart. It had been like this since we were kids, and even though in many ways it was a charming part of his personality, it also scared me deep down. I thought back to the time Cartman inherited a million dollars from his grandmother and bought a theme park; an event that put Kyle in the hospital and almost killed him. Okay, so Cartman dying was a little more serious than that, but the way Kyle let his emotions rule him to the point of endangering his health worried me sick.

My first step outside was blissful: fresh air, warm sun, open space. I only take a few steps before I see Kyle seated atop the base of one of the many decorative statues around the courtyard. The soft summer breeze pushes his hair away from his face; it dances momentarily before falling back into place, and repeats every time the wind picks up again.

"Kyle?" As soon as I hear myself, I know my voice is more tentative than I meant it to be. It almost sounds like I'm afraid of him.

"I'm sorry I told you to fuck off," He mutters almost inaudibly. "It's just… you treat me like this little kid who doesn't realize what he's doing. I'm twenty, Stan, I get it. Worrying is one thing but trying to shove a god damn fruit tart down my throat is not going to make me feel better."

"Hey, that was Kenny."

"I know but you understand, right?"

"Of course I do, but…"

"No. No buts," He finally meets my gaze, a shimmer of determination breaking the glassy stare. "You either understand and treat me like an adult, or you don't get it at all and continue to try and mother me."

I hesitate, desperate to explain that we only have good intentions. But the way he's looking at me tells me that he wouldn't listen, he just wants to know that I'll support him no matter what. That being his best friend means not only considering what I think is best, but letting him do whatever he thinks will work… even if I don't agree.

"I understand, Kyle. I'm sorry too."


End file.
